Five Things That Never Happened To Kudo Kazahaya
by EarnestInBerlin
Summary: Since I'm always thinking about him then might as well call it after him...
1. Chapter 1

**ISA: Another take at Kazahaya's past**

The usual silence every start of the morning, at the start of a day everyday. The trees in the park were standing still like soldiers and the leaves rustled beneath them like naughty children as the winds dictated them in their games. A boy on his bicycle was pedaling off to school with ease, having gone done this way many times before.

He waves a hand confidently as a woman appears out of her flower shop with a summer hat sitting on top of her neatly tied hair. She waved at the familiar boy with one free hand whilst the other held on to a bouquet of various flowers ready to be displayed.

The boy resumes his journey, proud that he finally navigated his bike with only one hand with no accidents. Along the way, he greets people whose face he remembers very well but names forgotten.

Today was a normal day.

**-- No Reason--**

The same boy pedals back home, homework or two to do and a very angry twin sister to face at home for being late, but the latter doesn't perturb him very much. He passes by the same shops he passes everyday and waves another hand back at the lady who owns the flower shop. Her hands full of flowers, the hat on her head gone showing him streaks of light brown hair. She nodded to show her acknowledgement before going inside to put away the flowers she put out on display.

He takes the same route going home.

As he did, he'd pass by the same shops with the little things they sell every crack of dawn. He'd pass by the same alleyways going back home littered with trash and darkened by the slowly setting of the sun in the sky.

He'd look straight ahead, thinking only of the food his sister would sometimes prepare if their parents were out on a trip again. But today, as he languidly pedals off, he looks around the setting of where he is for somewhere deep in his chest, something told him that he might never see these streets again.

He studied each alleyway he passes for about the rate of a minute before looking away to look at the healthy trees or at the reddening sky.

Nothing peculiar caught his eyes.

But as he passed by an alleyway littered with trash carelessly thrown away, he thought he saw a long and black figure on the ground, something that one doesn't sees everyday.

He pedaled faster.

He was away from the place in the matter of seconds and back to looking at the unimportant things that has somehow caught his eye now.

The smell of rotting flesh was intoxicating the air.

**-- No Reason--**

A/N: Bwahahaha… I think I'm going insane! The boy is obviously Kazahaya.


	2. Chapter 2

**DALAWA: The Other Side of the Moon**

All I can see is the other side of the moon. The darkness of the room all dyed in red… no something deeper than red… Crimson, like the color of blood that's pumped by your heart to the veins filled with oxygen and brought to the brain for better use. That is what I see when I sleep in your bed.

I can see the girl, despite the darkness and all those wasted blood- that could've been used for your brain to think or for your legs to move, you know. Every time I see her she's always sad but I can see her smile, once in a while but she's always there in that lonely room; painted in red, painted in crimson blood, painted in wasted crimson blood.

She would laugh, I saw her do it once. But I didn't tell you that when you asked me if ever I saw something.

Because you would never say anything about her to me if I ask, but now I know.

She was always wearing this dress. A dress that she would only wear for you, I know because you told her to wear that dress for you alone. I hear them crawl out the tip of your tongue, as I play spectator to your sad tale of romance, when I sleep in your bed.

The dress was white; well… it used to be white that is what I like to think. But every time I see it in my dreams- or should I call them nightmares? Every time I sleep in your bed, I see it all in red. It was a beautiful dress, dyed in red, painted in crimson blood, washed in wasted crimson blood.

I wonder what happened to that dress now, is she still wearing that dress (assuming, of course, she is still alive)? Or is it lying somewhere rotting yellow in old age while the red spots dry up and slowly disappear sinking into the clothe while the stench attracts creatures like flies to it?

But you would never say anything about her beautiful dress, but I know.

Or so I like to think I know.

She is like the moon, her face, her skin, her very texture kissed by the rays' of the night. Black long hair part to lie on each shoulders cascading down like black waterfalls. The image I see in my head- in your head- is that of a beautiful doll with black long hair that reminds me that of Snow White's dark curls. But what I- you- see in my-your- dreams, is just an abbreviation of what used to be. I can see her beautiful face, but even someone as clueless as I can see the emptiness in those stark eyes.

The spirit of what was once a loving person, all dead and gone.

But I can't tell if this is just the product brought by your lonely mind tormented with years of searching with nothing to show and no piece of that bloody dress materialized or this is what it really is.

I saw her laughing once, I think said that before.

Laughing, but her laughter was cold and vain and maniacal. I always thought of her as a nice person, because how could you grieve for her this much if she was another cold-hearted being? Her frail fingers manicured with red pointed at me- at you. What was she laughing about? I never really knew.

You won't say a thing about her to me, but I know.

**--The Other Side of the Moon--**

A/N: He, he; well, that's not the best but I did what I could! Suppose to be another story but, I already made too much one-shot!


	3. Chapter 3

**TATLO: Clover**

"_If you find a four-leaf clover, you would have found happiness"_

Kazahaya was once told by a familiar voice in hispast about clovers. He seen one when he was invited into the house of someone he once knew. He could still remember it. When he used to be living with Kei, he would always pass by a flower shopwhen he goes to school. The kind lady with the brown streaks for hair, the owner of the shop,would sometimes give him a flower or two when he would pass by from school.

"_A gift to your parents"_ that's what she would say once in a while.

She would smile a lonely smile and he'd be off on his way home with a flower that would need a vase. Maybe, she must look old now with a bit of white hair here and there in her head and a few creases added to her face.

But he only saw the clover a few days before he left his home. It was three days before he left even then; things were swirling out of control at home that made his reason for his leave.

It was in a small green box, the clover. Cushioned by a small white pillow made out of fluff and satin sheets sewn together on the sides with a blue thread, the lady said it sent to her by a son that Kazahaya never knew she ever had. He was in a city now, with a girl that has a name she keeps forgetting but it has something to do with the evening. That's why every time he thinks of her she sees the moon.

Kazahaya asks more about the boy, but the lady shook her head and said she has to close the shop.

She stood up and smiled a rather lonesome smile at her guest then went on her way to take away the flowers outside. The blond stared at the four-leaf clover for a moment. And maybe, for a moment, he could actually see the boy. He could imagine his face, his form, the color of his hair to the shape of his nose. Wisp of smokes tried to forn in his head, making out a body withhands and legs and a big body.But he shook his head and he could only see the four-leaf clover in its green box. Kazahaya shut the box and went away to help the old lady.


	4. Chapter 4

**APAT: Coffee Cups**

Kazahaya looked at the steam dancing out of the circular opening of his cup.

He found himself staring at the undistinguished figure of white smoke dancing like an exotic maiden in the arid dessert of the east. His hands wrapped the sides of the cup.

The pitter-patter of late night rain tapped at his window, asking for entrance in the dimly lit kitchen of the blond boy's shared apartment. Contemplation was a famous activity done in moments like this, so that is what Kazahaya is trying to do. It wasn't part of the original plan of Kazahaya, to spend the next few hours of the night deep in thought over the days that has yet to come and days that has passed by like speeding bullet rain in his face. But, when the rain falls taking away the stars that made the evening sky bloom and cast a great shadow upon the nation, then what else was one to do? An action that has been done again and again by lots of people everywhere, mimicked in times of loneliness or induced by scenery or atmosphere.

A picture painted with the tip all covered in the monochrome of silence.

There was a word for things or moments like this.

He traced his finger on the table top, writing a few Japanese characters here and there.

There was the unseen kanji for black.

He also traced the one that meant girl.

Below the spot where the girl was to be positioned, he drew a small circle. Thunder raged outside the window, illuminating the kitchen room for about a split second. Kazahaya looked out, not in alarm but for no reasons at all. Maybe it was because he wanted to see the streaks of lightning cutting a path onto the night sky. For a while, he stared at the rain and listened intently to the rage.

He went back to the surface of his table with the invisible writing.

After he wrote words and drew unseen pictures on the table, his coffee was gone. He stood up and went to the sink.

He looked at his now empty cup and for a moment, for a matter of two seconds surprise ran through his eyes. But he shook his head, smiled and put it away.

It was a clover, a four-leaf clover.


End file.
